


Truly, Deeply... Hesitantly

by Lamour



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamour/pseuds/Lamour
Summary: Sometime during/after the tail end of Season 11. The sort of slow, thoughtful, tentative fruition of a romantic relationship between Dean and Cas.





	1. Part I

They had been through so much. They had seen the destruction of the world and of each other, over and over again. Nothing was ever really mended, no one was ever truly saved. That was why, above all other things, something that should be so simple was so devastatingly complicated. Romantic encounters didn't seem to matter on a grand scale. There were more important things: family, friendships—keeping friends alive is hard for hunters. When Dean finally found someone who trusted him and would stand by him, and was nearly indestructible, the thought of losing that person became unbearable.

Sam was Dean's responsibility, but Castiel shared that connection with Dean—something that was part divinity, part damnation, and undeniably real. He was attracted to Amara, yes, and couldn't stand to hurt her, but it was all just another curse, supernatural mumbo jumbo. This too would pass, if the Winchesters had anything to do with it. That was another thing: the Winchesters. Dean wasn't sure exactly when Cas had crossed that line into being 'family' too, but it seemed like a long time ago.

When they were finally reunited, after the latest round in a series of cataclysmic events, Dean and Castiel stood together. They faced each other, inches apart, battered and broken, just taking in the sight of each other, the feeling of being in one another's presence again. It wasn't easy, but it was unavoidable. As they watched each other, a wave of exhaustion overtook each of them. They collapsed into each other. It was a subtle movement, despite it's weight. They leaned together, foreheads touching, and Dean clasped Castiel's shoulders. Castiel sank just that little bit, the stress in his shoulders ebbing under Dean's hold. Cas reached up to wrap his fingers over Dean's forearms.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas's voice was rough, tired.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean muttered. He was all out of fight.

They could have stood like that until the end of time, and it might have been enough, but something had shifted. The Darkness was gone. Lucifer was gone. Cas was worn down, used—but he was safe, and somehow they would recover, just as they always did. Still, there was a void. Honesty was often sacrificed for safety. As each of them had well discovered, the road to hell was paved with good intentions and poor execution. It was about time they crossed that bridge.

Against all odds, Dean went for it. As soon as he made the decision and started moving, in that split second, he started to doubt. It was probably the wrong time. It definitely wasn't a safe call. They were standing in the aftermath of another almost-apocalypse, in the middle point between fighting for their lives and being able to breathe. Either this was going to be okay, or it was going to be just another bruise to recover from. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn't. Both options were risky.

Dean tilted his head just that little way, never entirely interrupting the contact between his and Castiel's skin, and kissed him. The kiss itself was fairly noncommittal. It was definite and intentional, but with all of Dean's doubt, he held back beyond just having that contact. His eyes were on Cas's blood-smeared cheek, the side of his nose, not wanting to look, but not wanting to lose sight of him in case this went poorly.

Castiel was not surprised, although he hadn't expected it. When he felt Dean's nose brush against his, he let it happen, maybe more out of a tired fascination than desire. Even though Dean's kiss was somewhat flat, tender but lacking in depth, Castiel could feel everything that Dean was still trying to hide. He could sense it. In close proximity, it was easy enough for Cas to get lost in Dean's essence, his longing and determination, and all of the things that made Dean who he was. Cas could sense it all, despite Dean's hesitance to let him.

Cas leaned into the kiss before Dean could scare himself away. He was no more fierce or passionate than Dean had been, but he reciprocated, tilting his nose a little bit more firmly into Dean's cheek and tightening his grasp on Dean's arms. He relaxed into it, in the calm way of people who are better at just experiencing a single moment as it happens to them.

Dean slumped. His shoulders dropped and his chest caved. He broke away, letting out the breath he had been holding. Dean's hands shifted toward Castiel's neck, his thumbs tentatively resting near Cas's jaw. Castiel let him have his moment, expecting that to be the end of it, but Dean kissed him again.

It would be wrong to say that Dean didn't hold back this time, but he did let go of a little more than he was really comfortable with. Castiel accepted everything Dean had to offer him, and everything that he didn't. He was drowning in that sixth sense, the one that attuned him so well to Dean, and Cas let it all wash over him, through him. He felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

When it was over, Dean tried to reign himself in again. He looked embarrassed, maybe a little frustrated with himself. He took an uncertain step back, but Castiel held firm.

“Dean,” he rasped quietly.

Dean shook himself a little, uncomfortable in his own skin. Then he nodded.

“Lets get out of here,” he said.

When the two of them climbed into the Impala, Sam gave them a curious, raised-eyebrows look. It was half-hearted, exhausted, and generally accepting. He just had to show Dean he knew, and that it was fine. Castiel gave Sam an equally placid nod, and the three rode in silence back to the bunker.

Sam climbed out of the car, and once the door closed, Dean turned in his seat. “Cas...”

Castiel reached around the seat to squeeze his shoulder. “I know, Dean.”

. . .


	2. Part II

Neither one was the kind of person to sit back and take it. Both had a moral drive to care for and protect. When provoked, each was as violent as the other. Although they had both been through a lot, and fought for a lot of the same things, there was one key difference between Dean and Castiel. Castiel saw the good in his father's creation, more often than not, and he admired it. Dean only wished the world was so beautiful—he didn't believe it, apart from some very particular exceptions.

That was why Castiel let Dean have the lead. Castiel was infinite; he could overwhelm Dean in a moment, so he was careful. He continued to open himself to Dean alone, became vulnerable. Cas followed Dean with curiosity and willingness. This was the tender way he loved and protected Dean: he allowed him to flourish, at his own pace. Castiel was born to be patient.

Dean was human, one who had been through too much in his short lifetime. He was a little twisted, a little confused. His motives were basic, and somewhat tragic, although he had never given a lot of thought to why. Under the layers of dirt and armor, Dean had an unbelievable capacity for compassion. When Dean loved, he loved with all of his being. He put the same level of commitment into every act, from building a sandwich, to romance, to hunting. He cared. But the more he cared, the more it hurt, so he was aggressive about it. Life was largely short and full of despair.

. . .

Castiel had only done this once before, and the mechanics were not entirely the same. There were biological assumptions that could be made when making love to a woman. Men, he imagined, had to get more creative.

Cas had never considered doing this with Dean. The passion he felt for Dean was no less potent than that of lovers; in fact, it went far beyond that. They had all the workings of an intimate relationship, but it had previously lacked romance. It seemed like they would never have had enough time for that kind of thing, even if they had considered it earlier. Part of Castiel wondered if this wasn't Dean giving up on everything else. Even so, if Dean needed anything, Cas was not about to deny him.

It wasn't that he objected. Sex was pleasant, to say the least. Castiel sometimes wondered if it would be more intense now that he had gotten his grace back, or if the sensation might be dulled by all of the other facets of the world he was once again open to. And he loved Dean. Cas loved Dean more than creation, or maybe it was that he loved creation more because Dean was part of it. He had sacrificed so much for Dean, even when maybe he hadn't deserved it. In the end, Dean would make the same sacrifices for him. They were interdependent.

Despite a lingering sense of doubt, possibly a wrinkle of nervousness, Castiel was determined to give Dean this chance, if he wanted to take it. He was open to new experiences.

. . .

Dean was a mess. If his longing for Castiel to stay near him had been intense, then having his way was unbearable. Cas stayed at the bunker, and Dean assumed it was because he needed to lay low after his latest involvement with potentially the wrong side of good and evil. Dean imagined Cas didn't have many friends left up there in Heaven, if he'd had any before. Castiel had likely crossed too many lines for even his most optimistic followers.

Cas spent a lot of his time in his own room, or in the library. They weren't attached at the hip, but Dean noticed that Castiel would pass by regularly to check on him. Dean told himself that Cas was just stretching his legs, although he also assumed that Castiel could sit completely catatonic for days and not cramp up. When Dean made food, he would offer some to Cas, who would more often than not decline, but use the offer as an invitation to occupy the same space. Dean enjoyed the company, as long as he didn't think about it too hard.

That kiss might have been a mistake, Dean thought despairingly, biting into a sandwich. Around a swig of beer, he watched Castiel lounging in the adjacent chair, reading a book. He was pulled up close to Dean, but turned slightly away, his legs propped up on the table. It was a posture that had stuck with him from Lucifer's possession, too languid and comfortable to be typical of a younger, less exposed Castiel. The details supported his odd appearance. Castiel's feet were bare, the hems of his usual suit pants cuffed somewhat sloppily above his ankles. The trench coat had been draped inside-out over the back of that chair for days, and Castiel wore his white shirt casually, collar unbuttoned, cuffs undone.

Castiel turned to glance back at him curiously, and Dean just about choked. He cleared his throat and took another drink. Cas turned back to his book.

. . .

On it went, with Dean choked up, and Castiel ready and waiting. It seemed that the more obvious it was that Cas wasn't leaving anytime soon, that all the cards were very explicitly in Dean's hands, the more Dean doubted himself. And the more Dean doubted himself, the more vulnerable and insecure he felt, and the more flippant and awkward he became.

Until Cas decided he was using the wrong approach. Dean had already stuck himself out there, in a way that had obviously become a big deal, and Castiel considered that perhaps it would be better to get back to basics. He would be blunt.

“Dean,” he said loudly, remembering to knock like regular people do.

The door clicked and Dean peered out of his bedroom, looking concerned. “What's up, Cas?”

“We need to talk,” said Castiel. It wasn't one of Sam's 'we should talk about this' moments. Cas's voice, with its usual gravel, was more of a rumble when we was being gentle with it, something that sounded kind of raw but not unpleasantly so. When he used that voice sternly, “We need to talk,” became a command, and was not something to be argued with.

Dean opened the door wider and stood before Castiel, waiting somewhat apprehensively.

Cas could already see that Dean was bracing himself. “I care about you, Dean,” he said. His voice rested in that in-between place, firm but kind.

“Yeah.” Dean knew, of course. There wasn't much else to say.

“You kissed me,” Cas added.

There it was. Dean instinctively glanced down the hall. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted, somewhat defensively, though not aggressively. “I'd do it again, too.”

“When?” Castiel would have asked why, but he knew why. At least, he had some ideas. If he questioned Dean's intentions, it would send him into a corner. Hunters don't like being cornered.

Dean was caught off-guard anyway. He tried averting his gaze, but when he found that he couldn't, he looked Cas straight in the face. Dean paused for a long while, searching Cas for answers. Dean still had a hard time believing what he saw. “I don't know.”

“You could do it now.”

Dean leaned forward slightly, tempted, but still he hesitated. It had been so much easier the first time, after everything else that had happened. This was too... normal.

“Dean,” Castiel insisted, gazing at him intently. He took a step closer, pressing in on Dean's personal space.

Something in Dean took over, finally letting go of some of his doubt. It was something that he saw in Castiel's eyes, the set of his face, which were so utterly determined. If this was as much for Castiel's sake as for his own, he could live with it. Not knowing for sure had been killing him.

As Dean leaned in, Cas met him halfway, wrapping a hand around the back of Dean's neck to pull him in closer. Dean mirrored the gesture, his other hand sliding over Castiel's back. Cas closed his eyes, letting his other senses wash over him. He could feel Dean's fear, his hope, his trust. In a different way, he could feel Dean's mouth press and move against his own. He could feel Dean's warmth, hear the quiet of the bunker, taste Dean's breath and his skin, smell the soft musty scent of soap and earth and leather.

Castiel's body was strong and lithe under Dean's hands. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders, the curve of his spine. Dean had fought Castiel before. He knew how strong he was, how determined, despite the way Castiel felt in his arms now: calm and relaxed, willing to be moved and changed. It made Dean nervous, although it shouldn't have. This was Cas—but that was the rationale for both sides of the issue.

Dean was a good lover; compassionate, thorough, always. There were many women who had been blessed with that experience, but never any men. Although Castiel as an angel may not be gendered in the same way, his vessel was definitely male, and that made the mechanics different. Dean felt just a little out of his element, but he was going to have to work with it. The strange part was that he had made love to an angel before. This wasn't just a man, or any angel, he thought again. This was Cas. Castiel, in a situation he was probably far less familiar with, and now it was Dean's job to take care of him. That was something he could handle.

Dean broke away from the kiss and studied Castiel for a moment, holding him close. “How far?” he asked. Cas looked quizzically at him. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. “How far do you want this to go?”

Castiel seemed to consider for a moment, sidestepping Dean into his bedroom to lean against a wall. Dean waited expectantly, nervously.

How far? Castiel wondered. I pulled you out of Hell. I have traversed the world for you. I have been to Purgatory with you. I would extend myself to the far reaches of the universe. How far? Were there words for the lengths Castiel would go to, just for this one human?

Finally, Dean caught Castiel's clear blue gaze. “All the way,” Cas answered quietly. He held out his hand and Dean took it, crowding in toward Castiel and bending toward his face again.

The tip of Dean's nose grazed Cas's cheek. “Yeah,” Dean said. “Okay.”


End file.
